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"I don't like smoke," he said with grim meaning. "If there is anything you want to say, sir, you had better say it." "I have only this to say, Coquenil," proceeded the baron, absolutely unruffled; "we had had our little fight and I have lost. We both did our best with the weapons we had for the ends we hoped to achieve.
The judge and Coquenil exchanged some whispered words. Then the magistrate said quietly: "I'll give you one detail about the murderer; he is a left-handed man." "Yes? And am I left-handed?" "We'll know that definitely in the morning when you undergo the Bertillon measurements. In the meantime M. Coquenil can testify that you use your left hand with wonderful skill."
Coquenil sat down at his massive Louis XV table with its fine bronzes and quickly addressed an urgent appeal to M. Dedet, director of the Santé, asking him to grant the bearer a request that she would make in person, and assuring him that, by so doing, he would confer upon Paul Coquenil a deeply appreciated favor.
As he spoke there appeared the fake photograph that Coquenil had found in Brussels, Alice at the age of twelve with the smooth young widow. The prisoner shook his head. "I don't know them I never saw them." "Groener," warned the magistrate, "there is no use keeping up this denial, you have betrayed yourself already."
The door swung open and a moment later Coquenil saw a dim, white-clad figure among the shadows, and Alice, with beautiful, frightened eyes, staggered toward him. Then the door clanged shut and the sound of grating bolts was heard on the other side. Alice and Coquenil were alone. As Alice saw M. Paul she ran forward with a glad cry and clung to his arm. "I've been so frightened," she trembled.
He was in that coaching party; he killed the dog, it was it was the Duke de Montreuil." "No, it was not," replied Coquenil. "The Duke de Montreuil is rich and powerful, as men go in France, but this man is of international importance, his fortune amounts to a thousand million francs, at least, and his power is well he could treat the Duke de Montreuil like a valet." "Who who is he?"
He paused as if to check too vehement an utterance, and M. Paul caught a threatening gleam in his eyes that he long remembered. "Why?" "If you do, you will be thwarted at every turn, you will be made to suffer in ways you do not dream of, through those who are dear to you, through your dog, through your mother " "You dare " cried Coquenil. "We dare anything," flashed the stranger.
"Yes, indeed, it is easy to remember; it's the end window, on the first floor of the hotel. There!" Coquenil felt a thrill of excitement, for, unless he had misunderstood the commissary's diagram, the seamstress was pointing not to private room Number Six, but to private room Number Seven!
There was a tall palm in Number Seven that stood just before the holes and screened them." Coquenil looked at her curiously. "How do you know there was?" "Martinez told me. He had taken the precaution to look in there on Friday when he engaged Number Six. He knew exactly where to bore the holes." "I see. And he put them behind the curtain hangings so that your waiter wouldn't see them?"
I have a room on the Rue Poussin; I'll go back there first and take off some of this." "As you please," said Tignol, and he proceeded to give Coquenil the latest news of his mother, all good news, and a long letter from the old lady, full of love and wise counsels and prayers for her boy's safety.
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